Their parents were, Bess knew, remarkable, elderly, set in their ways and, like everyone, had their own set of eccentricities, but they had taken everything that had been thrown at them over the last year and handled it with grace.

‘A baby? Jake and Dan? But how will they . . . Who will be the . . . ?’ her dad had asked, scratching his head, before settling on, ‘A baby will be a marvellous gift for us all!’

‘Ooh, I’ve just remembered – it’s also got a little remote control that opens the doors to the double garage!’ Her mum had seemingly forgotten this very important detail.

Bess and Philip laughed.

‘And solar lights all the way up their driveway,’ her mum continued.

‘Flippin’ ’eck – enough, Nan!’ Natalie scoffed. ‘Uncle Philip will be giving you a job at this rate. Are you telling me about the house or trying to sell it? Not that I could afford it, not with all them cup holders in the bath.’

The door of the waiting room swung open at that point, interrupting their laughter, and they all whipped their head round in time to see Mario stroll in, wearing his work clothes. His heavy boots clumped across the floor and his hair was dusty. Bess’s heart quickened and she smiled at the sight of him.

‘How are we all doing?’ He nodded and smiled, greeting everyone in the room. ‘Still no news?’ He had been there at the very beginning, diverted from his journey to work in anticipation of becoming a grandad, but then after a couple of hours and no action had returned to the site, and now here he was again.

‘Not yet, Dad.’ The corners of Natalie’s mouth turned down, as if to say, More’s the pity.

‘I thought things would definitely be shifting by now.’

‘You and me both, love. They’re taking their time, I’ll say that much.’ Bess’s mother sighed, tapping her fingertips on the arm of the chair.

Mario caught Bess’s eye and walked over. She rose and stepped into his arms, breathing in the scent of him as he kissed the top of her head. Pulling away, he beamed at her. And that look, the one he now gave her at the end of a long day when he came home, or when they sat and held hands on the sofa, or woke in the morning, or sometimes just because, told her how far they had come in the last six months. Her heart soared with gratitude and love for her man.

There had over the last few months been emotional hurdles, hard to get over – discussions and admissions over the phone that took them into the early hours when, with tears running, they spoke without reservation, politeness or reticence. Gloves-off conversations where the only rule was to be honest and to listen. The themes were well worn and recurring, but had with time lost traction.